


The Little Things Give You Away

by aguantare



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-20 14:20:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aguantare/pseuds/aguantare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry’s barely seen Zayn at all, except for a couple times in the library, and he pretty much only sees Louis and Niall in his admin law class. But Liam—Liam’s been around. American law school AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: don't know them, don't own them, don't sue me

By 10:30 AM, Harry knows it’s just going to be one of those days. He gets cold-called in his 8:30 administrative law class, then again in his 9:30 tax law class, and he isn’t nearly as prepared as he should be, and his tax law prof gives him a hard time about it. Then he gets an email from his clinic client asking if he can reschedule their meeting for today from 3 to 5, and there go his dinner and movie plans with the boys. He feels a momentary flash of anger before he reminds himself that his client is an asylum seeker, a guy who’s been to hell and back, a guy whose life literally is in his hands.

He goes up to his study carrel in the library after tax law, is in the process of drafting out his email response to his client when a hand lands heavily on his shoulder and he nearly jumps out of his skin. A familiar snort-laugh reaches his ears, and he buries his face in his arm, sticks a middle finger up over his shoulder.

“Aw, come on Haz.” Two hands squeeze his shoulders, more gently this time, and Harry reluctantly sits up, turns his chair around.

“You’re a dick,” he says resolutely, keeping his voice low so as not to incur the wrath of any other high-strung law students in the vicinity. Liam’s eyes are twinkling, and Harry can only hold his glare for so long before a smile tugs the corners of his lips upward.

“What’re you working on?” Liam asks, nodding towards Harry’s computer screen.

“Clinic stuff,” Harry replies. He reaches over and minimizes the window with a slightly apologetic glance in Liam’s direction. “Sorry. Client email.”

“No worries,” Liam responds with a shrug, “So you still up for pizza, beer and The Avengers tonight?”

“I can’t,” Harry says, jerking a thumb towards his screen, now just his desktop background, one of those stock nature photos that came with the computer, “Meeting got rescheduled.”

Liam’s face genuinely falls at that, and it still warms Harry now, well into their second year, that the boys actually want him around, want to spend time with him. It hasn’t always been like that for him and he’s kind of stupidly grateful for them, even if he wouldn’t ever actually tell them that.

“You can always drop by afterwards,” Liam suggests, leaning against the side of Harry’s carrel.

“Yeah,” Harry says, even though they both know it’s not going to happen, “I might just stay and try and knock out my reading for tomorrow.”

Liam makes a face, but doesn’t protest. After all, he’s the type of person who will stay at the law school until 7 PM on a Friday night just to get his reading done. It’s probably why he’s top of their class.

“We’ll save some pizza for you, just in case,” he says. Harry rolls his eyes.

“Yeah right, good luck with that,” he retorts, “With Zayn and Niall around?” Liam laughs a little.

“Maybe I’ll have to hide some.”

He digs his knuckles lightly into Harry’s shoulder in parting, and Harry tries not to sigh as he turns back to his computer.

\---

Seven and a half hours, a soggy sandwich and an intense two hour meeting later, Harry finds himself back at his carrel, reading the same sentence in his tort reform textbook over and over again, trying to make it make sense in his stretched-too-thin mind. He knows he should take a break, but he’s only got 15 more pages to go, and if he can just get through these, he can check off a whole week of reading for one class in one go.

He sets his chin in his hand, closes his eyes, tells himself it’s just for a second—

And then he’s jolting awake, a page of his textbook half stuck to his cheek as he sits up. He’s aware of—something—he doesn’t know exactly what, but it’s like a niggle at the back of his mind, like something just out of reach.

Then a paper plate with two pieces of pepperoni pizza slides onto the desk next to his book. His nostrils are assaulted with the tantalizing scents of wonderful, greasy cheese, and his stomach roars its realization that it hasn’t been fed in almost five hours.

“You are a lifesaver,” he says, looking up at Liam as he reaches for the pizza. Liam smiles a little, and slides a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon onto the desk next to the plate. Harry blinks, looks around instinctively. As if any other law student would begrudge him a beer during a late night study session in the library. Liam grins, pushes affectionately at the back of his head.

“Sure you don’t want to come over and join us?” he asks. Harry sighs, looks down at his book.

“I should really finish this first.”

Liam’s smile softens a little, and that awareness, that itch at the back of Harry’s mind is back.

“So studious,” he says, not unkindly, “Who are you and what have you done with Harry Styles?”

“PBR,” Harry reminds him, holding up the beer can.

“Ah right, there you are.” Liam kind of goes serious then, just for a second, and he looks like maybe he wants to say something else, but then decides against it. Harry raises an eyebrow in question, and Liam just shrugs.

“Don’t stay here too late,” he says, “Okay?”

“Yes, mum.”

Liam pushes at the back of his head again, a little harder, but still overwhelmingly affectionate.

“Bye, Haz.”

\---

It’s later, much later, just as he’s about to fall asleep at home, when it hits Harry, what woke him up back at his carrel. He remembers a feather light touch of fingertips on his face. Whispers of breath over his skin.

Warm, dry lips pressed carefully against his cheek.


	2. Chapter 2

The thing is, Liam’s always been a good friend. A great friend, even. In the hyper-competitive environment that is a top-20 U.S. law school, Liam is a rare breed, the kind of person who notices when you’re not in class because you’re sick and emails you his notes from class without you even having to ask. The kind of person who Facebook chats you the answer when you get cold-called in class and have no idea what to say. The kind of person who gladly hands over his outline when everyone else is panicking about finals.

A lot of people like Liam. If law school was high school, Liam would definitely be one of the popular kids, someone who couldn’t go five feet in the hallways without being hailed by any number of well-dressed, good-looking people. As it is, Liam is the law school equivalent of that—Law Review staffer, top of their class, summer clerkship at one of the biggest law firms in New York.

And yet somehow, he manages to be goofy and friendly and totally down to earth, always able to find time for a pizza and movie night or a boys evening out at the bar. He only keeps a few people really close to him, and Harry isn’t exactly sure how it happened, but pretty much ever since 1L year, he’s been a part of that small number.

It’s just—Harry wouldn’t say he’s been pining, exactly. But this year, as the pressure has intensified and the time all of them are able to spend together has gotten more and more scarce, it’s like Liam has actually been there more, rather than less. Harry’s barely seen Zayn at all, except for a couple times in the library, and he pretty much only sees Louis and Niall in his admin law class. But Liam—Liam’s been around.

Sometimes it’s not Liam per se. It’s just a bottle of Cherry Coke and a bag of Harry’s favorite chips waiting in his study carrel when he gets there after class. Or a post-it note stuck on the door of his locker with a big smiley face and “GOOD LUCK” scrawled in all caps on the day of his oral arguments for moot court. Or a bag of cough drops left at his seat in his tax law class when he came to class with a terrible head cold.

Harry has kind of tried not to be endeared, because he’s had a lot of people be nice to him in the past, only to drop him when they find someone funnier or more entertaining or whatever else it is that he isn’t enough of. But it’s hard not to be, when Liam makes a detour all the way up to the third floor of the library just to say hi and check up on him, or when he changes his lunch plans just so he can eat with Harry. It’s hard, not to feel warm and happy and wanted.

It’s hard not to fall.

\--

Harry’s always felt closest to Liam out of their group of friends, but of the other four, Niall is a close second. Niall also lives all of two minutes away from Harry’s studio, and he’s the type of person who actually, genuinely likes it when people show up unannounced on his doorstep. It’s a Wednesday night and Harry knows that neither of them have class early tomorrow morning, so he throws on a sweatshirt, grabs his keys and wallet, and walks the two and a half blocks to Niall’s apartment complex. He presses the buzzer for apartment 302, and when Niall answers and hears his voice, he brightens noticeably.

“Haz!” he exclaims, “Get your skinny butt up here, I’m cooking chili!” The door clicks open, and Harry smiles a little as he lets himself in and makes for the stairs.

The tantalizing scent of garlic and onion and hamburger and tomato assaults him as Niall lets him into his apartment, and his stomach growls so loudly that Niall laughs, but it’s mostly sympathetic.

“No time to eat, huh?” he asks, walking back towards the kitchen.

“Not really,” Harry replies, “Don’t know how you have time to cook.”

“I make time,” Niall clarifies, “Beer?”

Harry hesitates, but then thinks maybe this conversation will be a little easier with some alcohol in him. It’s not that he thinks Niall will judge him or anything like that, it’s just that he’s never really talked about stuff like this with anyone. Partly it’s just because he’s a private person, likes to keep his feelings to himself.

Partly it’s because. Well. No one’s ever actually wanted him before.

Not that he thinks Liam wants him, necessarily. He’s not that arrogant. He just knows that he didn’t dream what happened, he knows there’s something there, and now all these feelings that he was more or less keeping under wraps have decided that now is as good a time as any to take over his mental processes.

“So,” Niall says as he cracks open two Heinekens for them and hands one over, “How’re you holding up?”

“Holding on,” Harry responds. Niall half-smiles at the throwback to their first year and raises his beer in acknowledgment.

“I’ll drink to that.”

Niall reaches over and takes the lid off the pot, stirs the chili and replaces the lid. Harry takes a long swig of his beer, wonders how to broach the subject.

Niall saves him the trouble.

“So what’s on your mind?” he asks, leaning against the kitchen counter. Harry frowns, didn’t realize he was that obvious.

“You get this look on your face,” Niall explains, gesturing to his own face, “Like, when you’re thinking really hard in class. And you’ve got it now. Which, considering we’re not suffering through admin, makes me assume you’re thinking about something else.”

Harry hums an acknowledgment. Takes another drink. Niall tactfully stays quiet.

“I think. I think Liam kissed me.”

Harry winces as soon as the words leave his mouth because they sound kind of foolish, but Niall doesn’t laugh, doesn’t smirk, doesn’t make fun. He just smiles, kind of softly.

“’You think’?”

Harry shrugs.

“I was asleep at my carrel. He woke me up.”

Niall smiles again.

“He adores you, you know,” he says after a moment.

Harry feels his cheeks heat a little because no, he didn’t really know and why is Niall still just smiling at him like that, all warm and fond?

“Zayn and Lou and I have been trying to get him to make a move for ages,” Niall continues, “He’s. He really thinks a lot of you.”

“Me?” Harry asks before he can quite stop himself, “3rd quartile, 75th percentile me?”

“Shut up,” Niall says, all affection and no malice. He sets his beer on the counter and moves to the stovetop, takes the lid off the chili and takes a taste, turns the heat off.

“Sometimes, Haz,” he says, and his voice is quiet, almost like he’s talking to himself as he moves the pot onto a cool burner, “I wish you could see yourself the way the rest of us do.”

\--

Niall sends him home with a stomach full of delicious chili and an order to go over to Liam’s place and “kiss him back already.”

Harry falls asleep, his phone in his hand, Liam’s number on the screen.


	3. Chapter 3

Somehow, Harry ends up back in his carrel the next evening. Maybe he ends up there, or maybe he’s kind of sort of hiding out. Either way, he’s got his tax law book open in front of him, and there’s some highlighting on it and some notes in the margins, but he’s not really taking any of it in, he’s mostly just staring at the words.

This time when a familiar hand lands on his shoulder, he almost jumps out of his skin, but for an entirely different reason. He’s hyperaware of Liam’s proximity even before he looks over his shoulder, in a way he never really has been before, and when Liam leans over his shoulder to frown at his tax reading, Harry can feel the heat of his face close to his own, can smell his cologne and the conditioner he probably used to wash his hair that morning, and fuck.

“This looks supremely boring,” Liam declares.

“Yeah,” Harry replies, for lack of anything better to say. Liam starts to pull back then, and Harry, hoping, praying Niall wasn’t lying to him last night or else he’s going to look like a complete and utter idiot, reaches up, curls a loose fist in the front of Liam’s sweatshirt to stop him. Liam turns to look at him, and he’s so close, and Harry doesn’t even really know what he’s doing, so he just leans in.

And then Liam’s mouth is warm on his and he’s kissing Harry back and it’s light and gentle and almost chaste but it’s so good.

“Oh,” Liam says, when he finally draws back. He’s got this kind of goofy half-smile on his face and he flicks his tongue out to lick his lips. Harry tracks the movement with his eyes, and Liam flushes, claps a hand over his mouth.

“Oh god,” he groans, his voice muffled, “I’m so sorry, that was horrifically clichéd and I didn’t even mean to do it.”

Harry grins then, relieved and kind of euphoric, and he’s still got his hand in Liam’s sweatshirt so he tugs lightly to keep him from going too far.

“So Niall said—“ He starts, and Liam cuts him off with another groan, buries his face against the side of Harry’s neck.

“Oh my god, don’t,” he says, voice muffled, “I never pinned him as the blabbermouth of that group.” His breath is warm on Harry’s skin, and Harry moves his hand from the front of his sweatshirt up to his hair. It’s comfortable and intimate and the kind of thing Harry’s always kind of wanted but never really thought he’d get.

“So Niall and Louis and Zayn get to know why you adore me, but I don’t?” he teases, pulling lightly on his hair. Liam huffs out an exasperated noise against his neck, but Harry can feel his smile and it makes him smile because this is real and this is actually happening and he kind of can’t believe it.

“Touche,” Liam mumbles, wrapping an arm around Harry’s chest, “I’ll only tell you if you abandon that Temptress of Tax Law to go to dinner with me though.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Harry replies and Liam snorts, smacks a kiss to his cheek as he straightens up.

“Come on,” he says, pushing lightly at the back of Harry’s head, and it’s affectionately chiding just like it always is, only Liam lets his touch linger for an extra second or so, “Let’s go. I’m starving.”

-

Liam kisses him properly after dinner, tasting like wine and pasta and tomato sauce. Harry’s too practical to let himself think about clichés like the rest of the world disappearing, or losing himself in the feeling, or melting.

But maybe he does melt. Just a little.


End file.
